


Salt in the Wound

by SheWritesDirty



Series: Bury Me Face Down [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abusive Neil Hargrove, Bad vibes, Billy's Catholic Guilt, Blood and Violence, Choking, Death as an overall theme, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Homophobic Language, Horror, M/M, Mentions of suicide (in passing), Monsters, POV Alternating, Pain Kink, Rivalry, Suspense, Tommy acting like canon Tommy, Under-negotiated Kink, Weed, both of them are assholes, king steve, sacrilegious themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWritesDirty/pseuds/SheWritesDirty
Summary: Steve was staring. Staring across the table at Billy who was... acting like he didn’t exist. Which was fine, ‘cause Steve hated him anyway. Hated every single thing about him, the way he laughed when Tommy told some stupid joke— the same sort of jokes he’d been telling Steve since they were inmiddle-school.The way he ate slow, like his jaw hurt. Like it was tender, like whatever had put that bruise on his face had left more of an impact than just… flesh and bone. And now that he was seeing it... Steve knew that he hadn’t done that to Billy.That someone else had, after that night and over the weekend... someone else had gotten their hands on Billy and put karma into his skin.And hestillhadn’t looked at Steve.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Bury Me Face Down [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181339
Comments: 45
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags speak of things to come. They’re also VERY. ACCURATE. Anything in there that you are uncomfortable with seeing, will unapologetically happen. 
> 
> This is a continuation of a one shot I posted back in December, it was mostly pwp but I dunno. I felt inspired to do more with these versions of Billy and Steve. And my little horror soul has been slowly dying so… I JUST HAD TO NURTURE IT.
> 
> [-Playlist-](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0I0j5h62sfTF9O7y0aSe4i?si=fM-BfsweTZ2SvzehSYh86Q)

Steve Harrington. King of everything and nothing. Rich boy, knuckle deep in his cake and eating it too.

Billy couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t stop glancing out of the corner of his eye and catching Steve laughing with his friends… flirting with girls... taking great care to make a good impression on every single adult who spoke to him. All while he was dead in the eyes, totally checked out.

Nothing there.

He wasn’t sure how no one else noticed, but maybe they just… didn’t care. They didn’t _want_ to notice.

Billy on the other hand... wasn’t nice to Steve. He was determined to be the only one who didn’t drop to his knees and suck the guy’s cock the instant he walked into a room. Instead he pushed. Prodded. Shot him condescending little grins when he opened his mouth to speak. Like Steve was simple, small town, had nothing interesting to say. 

It was true in a way... he was just some privileged kid from the middle of nowhere, had never seen the city. Had no idea what it was like to step over a man who… you didn’t know, if they were sleeping, or just. Dead on the streets. Had never been faced with something like that, when he was just on his way to school. Never met people like Billy, with piercings and leather jackets and music that talked about the devil and what he could do for you.

Steve had no idea what it felt like to be surrounded by friends who were scared to go home.

Still. That should have made it easy to write him off, to discredit— to humiliate and walk away from him. And Billy did... he did that. He did it over and over again until Steve was seething, until he could see it itching under his skin… until he could see it in the way Steve stared at him, dark eyes filled to the brim with hatred.

Jealousy, too. Because everyone liked Billy, and no one really seemed to care how he treated their king. Billy was too exciting, too interesting, too _new_. And everyone wanted to know the kid from California. If he surfed, how many girls he’d fucked, if everyone out on the west coast was like him.

It would have been fine, if things had stayed like that. If things hadn’t… gotten messy. Confused. If they hadn’t pushed each other just a little too far. If Billy hadn’t wrapped his fingers around Steve’s neck and… if Steve hadn’t stared up at him, pleading. For him to just do it. To close off his throat and snuff the life out of him, like he wanted it.

So unexpected, that it crawled up into Billy’s own throat and choked him right back. It felt claustrophobic, pressure pushing down on him— like being held underwater… seeing someone give up like that, it had shocked him right out of his rage. 

Stunned him… scared him, even.

And it had always been like that, for Billy. Fear was just a hop-skip and a jump away from arousal, like his wires were all crossed. Like it meant _love_... the clammy palms, the pounding heartbeat, the way he froze up and just... went blank, unthinking.

He'd confused the two from a very young age… love, and fear. It was something he had Neil to thank for. And it didn’t help that Harrington apparently got off on someone nearly choking him to death— didn’t help that he’d gone all limp and pliant below Billy…

Then the fucker had to go and spit in Billy’s face, and that was like a match to gasoline.

He bit sharply into his lip, just thinking about it. Neil was two rooms over, and Billy was so hard in his briefs that he probably could have come just from the friction of cotton fabric rubbing over it. He knew it was fucked up, he knew Steve should have disgusted him… that everything that had happened between them should have disgusted him.

Still, here he was. Turning over and mashing his face into his pillow, biting into fabric to mute himself… sliding his hand lower, under the waistband of his briefs and… whining under his breath, just low enough to not get caught… just loud enough, that maybe.

Maybe if Neil was up, getting a drink or taking a piss. That he might hear it.

It was just one of those ways that Billy gambled with fate. Daring God to punish him, for the thoughts he let himself entertain… for the way he thought of men, for the choked out breaths that escaped him as he wrapped his hand around himself and...

Thought of Steve, of the way the delicate muscles of his neck had shifted under his grip… the way he’d gasped for air, his throat working uselessly under Billy’s hands… the blood smeared all over his face, over Billy’s knuckles. Spreading out over the snow, marring all that fresh fallen beauty with something born from raw aggression. 

The slide of his hand over his cock was dry, lingering on the wrong side of discomfort. Billy grunted, pulling his hand back just long enough to lick over the palm. Tasting himself, shuddering at the salt lighting up on his taste buds— before stuffing his hand down again, wrapping around his cock and giving it a firm jerk.

His hips bucked into the touch, mindlessly chasing his own grip… the dizzying friction, the flood of pleasure prickling at his skin, surging through his gut. Grinding his teeth into the fabric of his pillow case, spit soaking it— his choked moans snuffed out by the thick, matted stuffing.

He was so close, he could _feel_ it… feel it building up in him, tipping over the edge and— and then he froze. The creak of a floor board, the groaning of walls as the house settled. Billy’s eyes trained on the door to his room, on the knob… waiting... _waiting_. He was breathing hard, too hard... hard enough that someone could hear.

Another creak, another groan of the house. The sudden flood of light cast under his door… the bathroom light. And then the sound of the bathroom door closing and— and he knew. Knew it was Neil, knew because he’d memorized the weight of those steps.

Because it was survival, knowing exactly who was moving in this house at all times.

He hung there, like he was trapped in limbo, his cock heavy and aching in his hand. The need for release spiking through him, painful, desperate, urging him on like the devil… sweet release, ‘ _step into my arms and find relief’_ a voice taunted, swirling in his mind. 

Billy’s room was two down from Neil’s. One over from the bathroom. 

And he knew… _knew_ what would happen if he let himself go. But he’d never had all that much self preservation, anyway. He swept his hand over his length, nearly crying out at the jolt it sent through him… swiping over the weeping slit, collecting it all in his palm and reveling in the way it made his grip properly slick… at the way he could hear it, the obscene sound of his hand sliding over his cock.

The bathroom light flicked off, and there was a pause outside his door. And then steps, retreating down the hallway. Billy choked out a final moan, roughly yanking the pillow to his face with the crook of his elbow, burying himself in it and— his hips jackknifed, once, twice, and then he was coming.

Crying out with it, silently. A strain on his throat as he tried to hold the sound back, a final image of Steve… dazed, his eyes glazed over. Blood running from his nose, smeared all over his lips. Ecstasy mixing with the fear of getting caught, coiling tight under his ribcage as his muscles locked up.

And then it was over, and he was panting into his pillow. Soft breaths, the damp fabric smearing his saliva all over his own face as he relaxed into it. His hand was disgusting, sticky with cum… the inside of his underwear a mess. 

He pulled his hand free, shoving the waistband down with his other, cleaner one… kicking his legs— despite the cramp that was settling into his left calf. Kicking his soiled underwear down until his ankles were free of them. He listened for a moment longer. 

For Neil. 

But he heard nothing, no signs of any danger. No repercussion. That same, familiar feeling flooded him. The thrill. Getting away with it. Dancing on the knife’s edge, a performance that left him winded and flush with satisfaction, taking a bow without a single cut.

He pressed his hand to his face, slick with cum… and licked at it, cleaned every single drop like he was hungry for it.

* * *

It had been two days since Steve had hung out in Tommy’s basement. Since he’d been forced to watch his friend being all chummy with the new kid. 

The new. _Asshole._

Two days since… since he’d fucked up royally— like the royalty he was.

It was kind of funny, kind of a joke. Kind of made him feel sick, like he was gonna spew that morning’s french toast all over the school yard.

“Hey, Stevie!” His stomach was still rolling when Tommy came up behind him, and slapped his back. “I called you dude, you just like — totally skipped out Friday night, both of you did.”

Steve kind of wanted to shove at him, to tell him to back off or… or Steve was probably gonna vomit all over his sneakers. But he swallowed it down, choked it back and lifted his head, turned to face Tommy.

And Tommy’s face sank, his grin dropping as he paled. Blanched skin that made his freckles stand out all the worse. “Holy shit… what happened to _you_?” Tommy asked, his voice a little high. A little strained. Concern, probably. Because yeah, Steve kind of looked like shit. 

Saturday morning, he’d looked in the mirror and… wasn’t entirely sure that it was even him staring back. A deep bruise blooming at either side of his nose, cutting over the bridge and settling under his eyes. It kind of looked like he’d taken a brick to the face, and he was honestly surprised that it wasn’t _crooked_.

That Billy hadn’t actually fucked him up permanently, rearranged him into something less than perfect.

And then there was the bruise on his neck… his fingers had trailed slowly to the collar of his shirt… pulling it back, out of the way. And he’d stared at the bruising there, mottled across his throat. A little transfixed by how it had gone from an irritated, angry red to… vibrant blues and purples. 

Overnight.

Like a flower blooming, opening its petals to the morning sun.

He’d pressed his fingers into it, hissing at the pain. Sinking into it, soaking it up and letting it weigh him down. He shouldn’t have wanted it— it shouldn’t have made him feel _alive_ … nearly dying shouldn't. Shouldn't have… made him so fucking hard in his pants that, he had to stop to jerk off before heading downstairs for breakfast.

Now, Tommy was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost. Like maybe Billy _had_ killed Steve that night, and this whole time he’d just been… _drifting_ , in purgatory or something. Except then Carol was walking over, and she saw him too.

Popping her gum in a way that set his teeth on edge.

“Wow, what the hell happened to you?” She asked, waving her hand lazily at him and nearly echoing Tommy’s earlier words.

“Nothing.” Steve spat, feeling like maybe... Maybe he should have worn a shirt with a higher collar. Maybe he should have just… stayed home today, skipped. He could still do it, they hadn’t even left the parking lot yet and… it wasn’t like his grades could get any _worse_.

But Tommy’s arm was wrapping around his shoulders and steering him forwards— and his feet were walking on auto pilot.

“Is that why you guys skipped out Friday night?” Tommy was saying, his face all scrunched up like he was thinking hard— Steve had to bite back the urge to tell him not to hurt himself. “You get into a fight with him?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Hagan?” Steve demanded, feeling sick again. Annoyed that Tommy would instantly think that… that Billy had done this to him, even if it was true.

“Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that you look like a dump truck hit you and… so does Billy.” Carol said, punctuating her sentence with a giant, pink bubble.

“What?” Steve asked, because he didn’t hit Billy. He didn't _touch_ Billy. Billy was the one who... Who did the… the touching. He really was gonna puke.

He shoved Tommy away, just as they were stepping into the school and— made a dash for the first bathroom he spotted, his sneakers skidding on the floor as he turned sharply. He slammed open a stall door and fell to his knees, purging the entire contents of his stomach into the bowl.

A rank smell hit him, and he gagged a bit more. Stomach acid burning at his throat, his eyes watering from the sour stench of it mixing. Mixing with piss and shit, and the cloying scent of chemical cleaners.

“Wow. Didn’t think I’d be hearing that familiar music of binge and purge in _here_.” A girl’s voice, bouncing off the walls and settling right in the back of Steve’s skull. Knocking painfully, _let me in_. He twisted his head, his cheek pressed to the toilet seat. Breathing hard. Some chick was standing on the seat in the next stall over, staring at him from over the divider.

“What are you doing in here?” Steve asked. Wondering if he even cared… why he’d asked.

“Girls don’t like me.” She said, shrugging. Like somehow pissing around a bunch of guys was better than… what. Getting bullied in the girls bathrooms?

Steve just rolled his eyes… pulled in a deep breath and… peeled his face off the toilet seat. Grimacing when he got a look at the mess sitting in the bowl. Flushing it down, getting to his feet and stumbling away from the stall towards the sinks. 

Washing his mouth out. One. Two. Three. Swishes. A memory of his mother, _now spit dear_. He spat.

“You look like you tried to hang yourself.” She said, and he turned around to see her still. Standing there. On the toilet seat. But turned now, so she could watch him. Like he was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

He probably was, most of the people at Hawkins High seemed to think so.

Well they _did_ , before Billy showed up. He grimaced, pulling at his collar like he might be able to hide the bruises. “You didn’t, did you?” She asked, fucking nosy.

“No.” Steve answered, even though it felt like a lie. Because he hadn’t exactly tried to stop it, either.

“Cool.” She said, stepping down finally… buttons and zippers and metal clinking all over her as she landed on the tile floor. Her converse squeaking on the slightly wet surface, they were covered in sharpie. 

Symbols, drawings, words that meant nothing to him.

“Why are you trying to hide it?” She asked, still talking to him. Which was... annoying. Steve didn’t particularly like the idea of anyone seeing him like this, let alone some complete stranger.

“I’m not.” Steve grumbled back, tearing his hand away from his collar and wiping at his face instead— wiping away the water still clinging to his skin, droplets left behind from washing away bile.

“So, someone else did that to you…?” She went on, ignoring how clear he’d made it that he… didn’t wanna talk, didn’t wanna know her. 

“Would you just fuck off!?” Steve bit out, turning on her. Whipping around and— then the door opened again, and it was Tommy.

“Dude, are you okay?” He was saying... and the girl suddenly looked like she wished she wasn’t here. That she’d never stepped down from that toilet. “Oh wow, the dyke’s here… in the guys bathroom.” Tommy’s voice was laced with that same, familiar vicious glee he tended to have whenever he was making fun of someone. "Were you— were you about to suck my man off?!"

“Fuck you!” The girl instantly fired back. Flinching away from Steve, like he’d been the one to say it.

“No way, man!” Tommy laughed, redirecting his attention onto Steve... his face scrunching up. “I can’t believe it... she _was_ , wasn’t she?” Steve was already moving, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder and shoving him out of the bathroom. “Oh my god, she was!”

“Shut up dude, if she's a dyke why do you think she’d wanna suck my dick?” He said, his eyes flicking around the halls as they left. People were already looking at him, already clocking his injuries with more interest than he was comfortable with. Carol was waiting for them, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, looking unamused.

“Cause man, you’re the _king_.” Tommy said, grinning wide. Like it was that simple… and, maybe for him, it really was.

* * *

Steve was staring. Staring across the table at Billy who was... acting like he didn’t exist. Which was fine, ‘cause Steve hated him anyway. Hated every single thing about him, the way he laughed when Tommy told some stupid joke— the same sort of jokes he’d been telling Steve since they were in _middle-school_.

And the way he ate slow, like his jaw hurt. Like it was tender, like whatever had put that bruise on his face had left more of an impact than just… flesh and bone. And now that he was seeing it... Steve _knew_ that he hadn’t done that to Billy.

That someone else had. After that night and over the weekend. Someone else had gotten their hands on Billy and put karma into his skin. 

And he _still_ hadn’t looked at Steve.

Carol kicked him under the table, and he turned his glare her way. She just shook her head, rolled her eyes. And that probably meant he was… being obvious. About something. Maybe about how goddamn jealous he was, that Billy was talking to Tommy and wouldn't. Fucking. _Look_. At. Him.

Steve took a page from Carol’s book and turned to kick at Tommy sharply under the table, enjoying the way he yelped and shot a hurt— confused look Steve’s way.

And then Billy finally. Finally looked.

Steve ignored Tommy’s questions, instead choosing to stare blankly at Billy. Baby blues piercing back into him, something flashing in them that he couldn’t quite read. Settling heavy under a mask of indifference, like they were reflecting their own lies back at each other.

‘ _I don’t care, it was nothing, you’re nothing._ ’

“You guys didn’t _actually_ get into a fight, did you?” Carol asked, breaking in. And then Billy was looking away again and… Steve hated her for it.

“Nah.” Billy said, answering for both of them. “He’d be dead if we did.” 

And it was… something about the way he’d said it. Like he wanted to remind Steve that he knew, how close it'd come just to that. Something about the way that Billy said it, hinted at it. Right there, in front of everyone. The little glint in his eyes that said it wasn’t a joke.

Steve shoved away from the cafeteria table, knocking Tommy’s soda over with the force he’d used.

“What the hell..! Oh _shit_ —” It foamed up, dumped out all over the table before he’d managed to right it again, and it was dripping over the edge into Tommy’s lap. His voice sounded kind of pathetic, as he instantly began mourning the loss of his soda.

And Steve left before he had to listen to any more of it.

It wasn’t like he needed to be there anyway, to sit around bored out of his mind… his nose aching dully, his throat stinging each time he spoke. Sore from Billy’s hands on him, exacerbated from the stomach acid.

So he slid into the driver side of his car and drove. He would have just gone home and… slept. Because he was tired. It had creeped up on him, hitting him suddenly. But his parents were home for once, for a whole week — and then they were off again, another business trip.

Another month of Steve using the credit card to order in takeout because if there was one thing he hated it was… grocery shopping. People used to stare at him, when he was younger. Shopping like an adult at fourteen. _Where were his parents?_ New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas. Who the hell knew?

So he drove, flicking his blinker as he passed the old auto-garage— turning into the junkyard. It was a dirt road, but at least it’d been plowed, it rattled his car like it was gonna start falling apart at any moment. Luxury brands weren’t really… meant to just roll around in the sticks. To explore. He always felt like it was on purpose, that his dad bought him this car as a way to keep a leash on him.

Can’t go too far… _might scrape out the bottom, son_.

Steve just grinned into the rearview, imagining his dad’s face now. Him bruised up like some kind of delinquent, driving to the junkyard to skip class. He probably would… would’ve... Steve’s grin dropped. Because it was useless, pretending like his dad cared.

Like he had any time to spare for worrying, about what Steve was getting up to.

The junkyard came into view, and Steve veered off the road— pulling the gear stick, shifting and parking. Ignoring the jerky transition, pushing the door open and stepping out. Stalking towards the husked out cars. Shells. Empty and rusting, sitting exposed to the elements. It wasn’t that cold of a day but... the brisk wind still stung at his bruised skin.

He pulled his scarf around himself, fished some gloves out of his pockets and headed for the bus. Tugging at the door, fighting with it a little before it finally gave out and swung open. He nearly keeled over with it, flailing a bit as he lost his balance and then… grounded himself, and stepped inside.

It was warmer than outside, heated from the sun beating down on it. Steve shut the door behind him and walked through the aisles. Some of the seat cushions were missing, others were all torn up… but the long seat on the back was in good enough condition for him to lay over it, his knees bent up to his chest so he could fit.

He’d swiped some of Tommy’s weed before he’d left that night. And he had it with him now, was fighting with his coat to pull it free from one of his pockets. A lighter, and plenty of things to forget. He lit up, took a hit and lay back in the seat.

Billy instantly swam to the forefront of his mind, those sharp, blue eyes lit up with fire… replaced with a hazy satisfaction as Steve shoved him off… After he’d let the guy get off on him — Hell, he’d _encouraged_ it.

He’d wanted to know if Billy would actually do it and… then he just. It felt _good,_ when Billy’s teeth sank into his neck, when they worked at the bruises under his skin. The weight of Billy holding him down, the heat of their bodies pressed together… sharp contrast to the chill of snow numbing him from underneath.

Steve had always had a hard time getting excited, Tommy used to laugh about it— said it was _a shame._.. that Steve was wasting all that ‘heat’ he was packing. It wasn’t like it was his fault, Hawkins girls were just so… dull, plain, boring.

He would flit between them like cards in a deck, shuffle… deal… play them and discard. It had always worked in his favor, always given him just more of a reputation… hard to win. It never backfired, never had them questioning why he didn’t stick around for seconds.

Because he wasn’t sure he could get it up with the same girl twice, half the time it was a struggle just to get there the first time.

And then Billy rut into his leg and chewed on his neck and Steve was so fucking hard in his pants he thought he was gonna die. And his cock was stirring at lunch, while Billy ignored him… _Ignoring_ Steve... all the while shoving soggy fries into his stupid mouth.

It was ridiculous, infuriating and impossible and so… so fucking funny. 

So funny it had Steve laughing, curling in on himself in the back of the rusted out bus… laughing so hard his stomach hurt, until tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.

The universe was one massive joke, and it was laughing right along with him.

The mania subsided, almost as quickly as it had come and… left Steve feeling empty, dull. He uncurled to stare up at the ceiling of the bus, his breathing harsh as he swallowed down air again. 

Whatever happened between him and Billy… he was going to forget it. Write it off, the same way Billy had. None of it meant anything, it was just… the tension between them, boiling over. It wasn’t his fault that Billy was a freak, that he fucked his problems.

And then ignored them, at lunch.

Steve let out a frustrated breath, sucking down another couple unsatisfying hits from Tommy's weed before stamping it out... throwing an arm over his eyes and closing them. Let the silence of the junkyard wash over him, nothing but the slight creaking of the buses metal frame as wind blew against the outside.

It was cold, but Steve was numb anyway… and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Pain, fingers around his throat… choking him… his own hands pulling at them uselessly… nails scraping over knuckles. It hurt this time, in a way he couldn’t quite handle— like a burn, searing his skin from the inside out.

He tried to scream but it was nothing, the cracking of air… silence. The hands tightened, and he panicked… thrashing, shoving at nothing, twisting in place and...

There was a thump, and the phantom pain at his throat was quickly replaced by a very real throbbing in his elbow. His eyes opened to darkness around him, to him on his hands and knees on the floor … the pain from having smashed his arm into the chair in front of him. 

He blinked, his head swimming a little as he tried to put the pieces back together… _you came here, you’re supposed to be here._ Steve breathed out hard, pushing away from the floor and landing on his ass… touching gingerly at the bruising laced around his neck.

It was tender to the touch, but it was a different pain from the dream… It felt like home. That dream was… wrong.

He took in his surroundings, the bus he’d climbed into earlier that day… he must have drifted off. It was dark as fuck outside and, he wondered how late it was. There was a small bit of light filtering in from the moon, and when he got up to look outside the window he could easily make out his car in the distance.

The surrounding treeline was pitch black… and he couldn’t quite suppress a shiver.

“Fuck… nice going.” He muttered to himself, already imagining the shit his parents were going to give him when he got home. Like they had to play real parents while they were here, caring and concerned and so very interested in where the hell he thought he was… staying out until midnight.

He checked his wrist watch, just to confirm that.

One am.

And then there was a sound outside, and he stilled. It was so soft, so subtle… the crack of a branch. If it weren't for the fact that the junkyard was deathly silent at night, he probably wouldn’t have heard it at all.

The wind from earlier in the day had died down, and the ground was still covered in snow. The crack was a branch, snapping straight from a tree. The hairs on his arms stood up, a chill worse than the weather gripping him.

And it was _nothing, nothing, nothing._

Steve shifted where he was sitting, swearing under his breath and getting to his knees… hauling himself up. Only to freeze again when another sound came from the treeline outside… not a snap of a branch, this time.

A low, chortling sound. It carried in the silence, soft and haunting. It clung to the back of Steve’s mind and repeated itself over and over again. It was some kind of animal, but he didn’t know what… it wasn’t like he knew, the difference between a bear or a fox or… any fucking animals out here.

The difference between what was more scared of you, than you were of it.

He cracked his joints when he moved again, like they were protesting. Like they thought the best course of action was to just stand there like a statue and do nothing… but another part of Steve’s brain was surging with energy, pushing. Adrenaline, telling him to look for… 

Steve was on his hands and knees again, digging under the seats of the bus as quietly as he could and… knocking things out of the way, carefully tugging a bag forwards… a baseball rolling out from under the chair and making its way down the aisles.

He bit back a sound of triumph, as his grip landed on the handle of… a bat, solid wood and hefty. Pulling it out— fuck, he wanted to _kiss_ it… it felt like safty in his hands. The joy was short lived, as he turned to catch the ball he’d knocked loose rolling to the front of the bus and… 

Slowing, at the edge of the steps down.

It was like _everything_ had slowed down… Steve held his breath, his eyes trained on the ball as it wobbled at the edge… and then it tipped over, and he winced at the _thunk, thunk, thunk,_ of it hitting each step on its way down.

There was a final, ringing clang as it hit the sliding doors… and Steve stood there. Listening.

Silence.

The sound of his own thoughts, his own breathing loud in his head. And nothing. He adjusted the bat in his grip, holding it ready… and slowly stepped towards the end of the bus. He felt ridiculous, like he was overreacting… like he was going to step out there and nothing was going to happen.

Because of _course_ nothing was going to happen, there was just this… itch. Fear creeped up to smother him and… he didn’t know why. Maybe the dream had set him on edge, maybe he was a massive fucking pussy.

He grit his teeth and moved fast, pushing the sliding doors open and wincing at the screech of noise they made. And then he was hopping down to the ground, the moonlight reflecting back off the snow… his own footprints and nothing else, leading right back to his car.

Steve followed them, his head whipping around as he went, shadows filtering through the trees and dancing across the snow.

A new sound cut out over the silent night air, blood curdling and sharp… not natural, nothing like he’d ever heard in his fucking life. It punched all the air out of Steve’s lungs, had him tripping over his own feet and landing palms first into the snow. He whipped around, bat raised to strike— staring back at the trees… into the darkness, where the sound had come from.

Something was creeping into the light… stepping slow… a dog or… something else. It was dark, blending in with the night and… He could barely make out details, with the moonlight his only guide. All he knew was it scared him, choked every single idea he had of bravery right out of him… _smothered_ it.

He frantically scooted backwards, using his legs to push himself through the snow, never once taking his eyes off it… he was close to his car, knew it was probably ten steps away… he could just run for it. But that meant turning his back on whatever the fuck was stalking towards him and that felt… like the wrong thing.

It stopped… pausing. Watching Steve and. It was like they were staring each other down, despite the fact that he couldn’t tell where the fuck it’s eyes were.

It made that disturbing chortling sound again, and Steve was almost transfixed… listening. It wasn’t just in front of him, he realized with a sinking feeling— and by the time he whipped his head to the left, it was too late.

Another one of those dogs broke out from the tree line, diving for him and… it’s face opened up like the fucking _Thing_ … like it’d only been hiding in the shape of a dog and it was here for him and tearing open to come forward for what it really was… Except it wasn’t blood, guts and alien parts.

It was just teeth and saliva and that horrible... _horrible_ fucking sound. And Steve just… acted on instinct, swinging his bat at the thing as it descended on him.

A crack filled the night air, brutal and harsh… followed by a squealing of pain. And Steve opened his eyes, cursing himself for closing them in the first place. He caught the shape of the thing scrabbling in the snow… and then it was slinking away.

Steve turned to catch the second one still approaching… and it seemed almost like it was more cautious now, no longer simply a ploy to distract him… but wary now. And Steve put the pieces together quickly, that they were working together.

Maybe not dogs but… a pack.

He slipped in the snow as he got up, cursing his shitty fucking sneakers and… making a break for the car. The thing behind him screamed, and he knew it was chasing him now. He could hear the sound of it gaining on him. The driver side was parked facing alongside the treeline and Steve opted for the passenger side instead, his fingers diving for the handle and jerking the door open…

Throwing himself inside, he slammed the door shut again just as the creature slammed into it— metal crunching under the force of the impact. Steve hurried across the center console, his feet tangling under him as he went, and he swore as he finally righted himself and slid into the driver's seat.

His keys were in his jacket pocket and he fished them out, his hands shaking as he tried to jam it into the ignition. “FUCK!” Steve yelled, biting his tongue and finally… finally fucking lining it up, twisting it harshly and feeling the relief wash over him as his car rumbled to life under him.

He had the wheel in his hand, and his foot on the gas pedal… his tires sliding on the slightly iced over ground as pulled out of his parking spot. One of those things slammed against the driver side window, and it was like spiderwebs bleeding out from the center of where it had hit the glass… There was another one, lit up by his headlights… 

It’s face opened up, and Steve hit the gas— flinching as he hit it, as it rolled up and over the hood of the car, thunking over the roof. He glanced back to catch it falling into the snow behind him, lit up a dull red from his taillights… and then Steve was focusing his gaze back on the dirt road ahead of him.

He drove out of there like there was a clock counting him down… like at any minute more of them were going to charge out of the woods, and drive him off the road. He hated the way he felt every bump and rattle, his car struggling to do sixty on a dirt road… 

And he just wanted to push it… pushed his foot harder on the gas and crossed his fucking fingers.

Steve made it out of the forrest, his fingers gripping the wheel like a life line… like it was the only real thing left, and if he let go he was going to lose his mind. The radio was playing, he slowly came to recognize it… filtering in through the adrenaline that was finally fading… the sense of panic that had drowned everything out around him, other than the potential danger still lurking in the darkness.

Fleetwood Mac… Stevie Nicks voice soothing and soft as she sang about the landslide pulling her under. He felt like he was the one being pulled under. Like the ground underneath him was slowly filtering away, and he was sinking.

Hawkins was sleepy and peaceful, and it looked wrong. It was so fucking quiet as he drove home, the bat still resting in his lap… a disturbing black goo coating it from where he’d hit that first one.

His clothing felt wet, too. But he didn’t look, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the road in front of him. When he pulled into the driveway, he sat for a moment… let the song play out, let his breathing slowly return to normal. 

He had to get outside, into the dark again. To walk to his front steps, unlock the door and slip inside. He would have just… slept in the car, if that wasn’t the most fucking terrifying thing he’d ever thought of. Sleeping, surrounded by the same _outside_ that had just tried to kill him.

The house felt… safer. But getting to it felt. Not safe.

Steve grasped the bat in his hands again, before kicking his door open and scrambling out. He had his keys in his teeth, didn’t even bother shutting the car door just— ran, stumbling over the asphalt as he hopped over the front steps right onto the stoop. 

Key in the door, turning, swinging it open and slamming it closed behind him. His breathing was hard again, and he waited there for it to calm. Back pressed against the door, keys discarded onto the floor… bat still gripped in his hands. Held in front of him, like he was going to defend himself from his own house, now.

And then he was checking back in with reality… with what he probably looked like right now, and that his parents were home… he hurried for the stairs, doing his best to sneak up them… wincing when one of the stairs creaked, announcing him.

“Steve.” His mothers voice, from the den… it was dark, nothing but the table lamp lighting around her as she read. She didn’t look up at him, turning over a page. “You can't just stay out like that, all night.”

“I’m sorry, mom.” His voice wasn’t even his, it cracked— hoarse like he’d run a mile. 

“Your father is going to speak to you tomorrow.” She said, flipping another page. “Goodnight.”

Steve just continued up the stairs, not caring if they creaked now… hurrying to his room and closing the door carefully behind him… and his legs gave out under him, instantly. He hit the floor, the events of the night rushing back to him now… now that he was safe.

Was he safe?

No, it was more like he was still in that bus… still in that nightmare, fingers at his neck and panic. Panic that wasn’t supposed to be there, filling all the emptiness he’d left for it. Like he was a vessel, like he’d carved himself open for it and now it was infecting him. And it was wrong, because he didn’t _feel_ things.

Not like this. He coasted, he drifted, he was nothing and everything and he liked it like that… he was _comfortable_ with that.

Steve didn’t sleep. He sat there all night, with the bat in his lap until the sun came up and threatened to blind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jumped into this without like, testing for the bottom. I have no idea how deep this puddle is. 
> 
> No idea when the next one will be up, I kind of have to be in a MOOD for this fic but… more will come, just don't hold your breath. (Or do, if you’re into it like Steve clearly is)
> 
> **Thank you for reading!** As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (as is any feedback) — if you liked this work, you can reblog it [right here~](https://shewritesdirty.tumblr.com/post/644470443176329216/rated-e-horror-blood-violence-pain-kink)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOIN' IN REAL HARD ON ORGANIZED RELIGION HERE. I think y'all will be able to tell how I feel about it ROFL. Also there is a mention of Chernobyl, which is 1986 but listen. I'm fudging dates because I just _wanna_. The entire class of ‘85 got held back a year, fight me. 
> 
> [-Playlist-](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0I0j5h62sfTF9O7y0aSe4i?si=3VxSDtHyTS2e3Ha-kQ0t8Q)

Billy’s dad tries very hard not to put him in the hospital. 

Despite how much Billy pushes him,  _ tempts _ him. And Billy gets good at taking care of himself. Patching himself up. He gets good at sneaking out of his bedroom at night, when everyone else is fast asleep. At being deathly silent, as he finds the first aid kid and… sits on the toilet, in the flickering fluorescent light and. 

Cleans his wounds.

Quietly patches himself up and presses well placed bruises to the blissfully cool surface of the porcelain sink. His skin was always mottled with blues and reds— a watercolor canvas of reminders… of what a fuck up he was, of what a shitty excuse for a  _ son  _ he was.

And he covered it all up with endless bravado. No one asked about the bruises when he grinned like a maniac, when he snapped his teeth like an animal. When he acted like the kind of guy who was begging to get laid out, no one was all that surprised that someone tried.

Still, Neil made him hide them under layers of clothes as they all crowded into Susan’s shitty Sudan and carted them off to Sunday service. Like God wouldn’t see it if he hid it under a nice, blue, Ralph-lauren button up.

Considering the fact nothing bad had ever happened to Neil for the shit he did… maybe God really couldn’t. Or maybe Billy just deserved everything he was getting. 

There was something really special about small town Catholicism that the modern parishes up in California never could have held a candle to… the self hatred, the damnation, the eternal hell fire that awaited sinners like Billy… it was delivered like a slap to the face, as the preacher spit out words like ‘adulterer’ and ‘whore’ and ‘faggot’...

That last one had Billy feeling sick. Had him thinking about what he’d done with Harrington, and waiting for the holy hand of God to reach down and point straight at him.  _ Right there boys, the wolf among the flock. _

He wondered when the hell it would stop… when all the scripture would finally sink in and brainwash the gay right out of him. Neil didn’t think there was much hope for him, but if he didn’t bring Billy to service then people would start asking questions…

And Billy might not have been miserable for  _ two fucking seconds _ , so yeah. Neil made him come.

It was an hour of gritting teeth and sitting there trying to black it all out... and then it was Sunday fucking brunch. And Neil would cart them off to some diner and they’d all have to pretend like they liked each other until Neil and Susan finished their food.

Max somehow looked even more eager than Billy to get the hell away. Losing the entire first half of your Sunday was bad enough, but being fourteen? It was fucking _ torture _ probably. Billy was used to it, because his mom had been even more into this shit than Neil was.

At least the place his mom took him to never called people ‘faggots’... never talked about them like they were better off dead.

He almost could have believed in it, really. When he was a kid. When she was still here to soften the blow of reality. To help conceal the vitriol that lurked under every single word that slipped out of those fucking preachers mouths.

But all the spit shine was rubbed off now, and Billy saw nothing but Neil’s face reflected back at him in all those men… they’d all love to put him in the ground, if they ever found out how broken he was.

How bent and disgusting and _ wrong  _ he was… how he looked at people like Harrington and just wanted to shove them down,  _ get  _ shoved down by them… that he wanted to fuck and be fucked. The thought of going to hell used to scare him when he was a kid, and then he’d realized he was already living it up here.

So who the fuck even cared.

He stared down at his fried eggs, and the thought of food in his stomach right now… while it was still settling from the state he’d worked it into earlier, thinking about Harrington and eternal fucking damnation.

It was all one big joke, and he was at the ass end of it.

“Billy.”

Neil’s voice, a warning in it. Billy ate his damn breakfast.

* * *

Steve ran on auto pilot all through Saturday. He’d gotten an ear full from his dad… about responsibility, about what they expected from him. And Steve had just sat there, nodding his head.    
  
_ Yeah dad, I know _ —  _ it won't happen again. _

And that was the understatement of the year. Steve was pretty sure he was never going to be able to set foot outside at night _ ever  _ again. Every single shadow that passed in the corner of his eye had him jumping, had him whipping around in panic… his heart rate skyrocketing.

That night playing over and over again in his head, like a film reel that would never die. Those things that had attacked him… totally un-fucking-natural. He’d gone to a library. Him. Steve Harrington—  _ King Steve _ . Spent his Saturday at the goddamn  _ library _ .

Just to make sure… that it wasn’t some kind of… rural, Indiana… wild dog… problem. Mutant wild dogs, or something. He’d read about weird shit going on in the USSR, animals coming out of Chernobyl all _wrong_.

Except this was Hawkins Indiana, and it wasn’t like there was a nuclear site anywhere around here… not one that Steve knew of, anyway. 

So that didn’t exactly check out… which left— Crazy. Steve was fucking crazy. He’d fallen asleep in the back of a bus and woken up with all his marbles gone. He’d imagined monsters and nightmares and they were so vivid and real that if anyone ever knew… they’d probably lock him up in a loony-bin.

Which meant he wasn’t going to tell anyone.

He was gonna push it all down, stuff it in the back of his head and stop  _ thinking _ about it. His parents were going on another work trip, out of town by Sunday morning— and that meant he could bully Tommy into throwing a kegger at his place Sunday night.

Because he wasn’t quite ready to be alone.

Steve was lucky that Tommy was a frat boy piece of shit, because he didn’t even question the idea of a party on Sunday night. He just whooped over the phone and promised to bring the keg, which meant Steve didn’t even have to go out and find drinks. 

By the time it was sundown, the house was full of already half drunk assholes from school and… the shadows clinging to the corners of the rooms seemed a little less intimidating, the more beers he drained. 

Tommy was hanging off him all night long, talking in his ear about some inane shit… stuff that Steve probably would have entertained, a couple nights ago. Now he just… couldn’t focus on it. He just wanted to drown in alcohol and know he was surrounded by enough people that it didn’t  _ matter _ if he let his guard down…

Because he’d been tense since Friday night. And he’d barely slept… and he still had that bat, leaning against the wall next to his bed. And every second he spent without it gripped in his hand felt  _ wrong _ .

He got wasted, and he got sick of Tommy yapping in his ear… he snapped at him, clocked the hurt expression on his face and… then Tommy was gone, and Steve was with Rick or… Todd? He wasn’t entire sure who the fuck it was, but he knew they were on the Basketball team together.

And he knew the guy was passing another beer into his hand, so it kind of felt like his new best friend.

Steve’s legs were getting weak, so he threw his arm over who-ever-the-fucks shoulder and hung on… and the guy just supported him, which was nice. He was pretty sure the guy was saying his name, saying something else that Steve really wasn’t listening to.

He just smiled and nodded. That was what you were supposed to do, when you weren't listening. The guy laughed, and pulled Steve up some stairs. Which was kind of a struggle… and then Steve realized they were  _ his _ stairs, which was funny and he couldn’t stop fucking laughing.

The guy kept saying something about his room, which was a pretty good idea— when someone interrupted them.

“Fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was painfully familiar, it pounded in Steve’s brain and instantly gave him a headache.

“Nothing, man.” What’s-his-face responded, he sounded put out. Annoyed. Steve couldn’t blame him, Billy was an annoying fucking guy.

“We’re going to my  _ room _ .” Steve slurred, a big stupid smile on his face. He poked at whoever-was-holding-him’s cheek.   
  
“No you aren't.” Billy answered stiffly, a warning in his tone.

“How about you fuck off?” Todd… it was Todd right? Steve blinked at the side of his face and realized he wasn’t sure any more if this guy was even on the basketball team.

“How about…” Billy’s voice dropped low, dripping with something dangerous. “You let go of him, go back downstairs and... I don’t break your fucking  _ face _ .”

He was close now, and Steve could see the way his blue eyes shone like daggers. The guy holding him up tensed up for a minute… like maybe he thought he was actually gonna take that challenge… and then he was shoving Steve away. 

And Steve went down like a ton of bricks, hitting the floor and smashing the shit out of his knees.    
_ “Shit—!” _ Steve managed to hiss, his palms aching from where he’d managed to catch himself from doing a full face-plant.

Then Billy was grabbing him, and his hands were nowhere near as gentle as maybe-todd’s had been.

“Fuck off— you’re such a fucking dickhead.” Steve slurred, shoving at Billy uselessly as he manhandled him in the direction of his room… kicking the door open and shoving Steve inside. “I had that fucking handled!” Steve spit out as he wheeled over again and landed on his ass, on the floor again.

“Yeah? Cause it kind of looked like you were about to give up your ass cherry to Reed.” 

_ Not _ Todd… then.

Steve squinted up at Billy… just to make sure he wasn’t getting this one wrong either. “You jealous?” Steve asked, trying to wink but… managing only to blink both eyes. 

“Jesus fucking christ…” Billy muttered, throwing his head back and staring up at Steve’s ceiling. Like it took every inch of his patience not to put his fist through Steve’s face right now… so, not all that different from when he was sober.

Steve just lay back on the floor. Because he was pretty sure this was his home now.

“Right… see you never, I fucking hope.” Billy said suddenly, turning on his heel and starting towards the door and… Steve panicked.

Because then he would be alone, and he was fucked up and… the nightmares were crawling back to the front of his mind. “Wait—” Steve mumbled, trying to roll over and get up… only to end up on his hands and knees and finding it difficult to actually go any further. “Wait, Billy…!”

Billy stopped, his hand hovering above the door knob. His back still turned to Steve, his shoulders tense. “What.”

“I can’t be alone.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Was all Billy said, after a few minutes of silence stretched between them.

“Please, just— send that other asshole back in here, if you’re gonna go.” Steve spit out, managing to sound slightly bitter despite the way his words blurred together.

Billy let out a long, suffering sigh… but then he was turning back around and leaning against the door he was so close to walking out of just a second ago. “I’m not drunk enough for this.” Billy stated, staring down at Steve as he tried to get to his feet…

“Don’t worry, I got that covered... for the—for the both of us.” Billy snorted at that, and Steve felt a little proud that he was still funny… even when he was this blitzed off his ass. He managed to fumble his way towards the bed and fell into it, smooshing his face into the mattress.

Steve still had his shoes on, and his jeans felt kind of uncomfortable but… he couldn’t seem to summon up any more effort than it took simply getting here in the first place. So he just closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that his left arm was twisted at a slightly painful angle.

He was almost dozing off, when he felt hands dragging him up… rolling him over and settling him more squarely on his bed. He peered through one eye to find Billy hovering over him… staring back down.

“You’re not going to remember this, tomorrow.” Billy said, as if that were an excuse… like that was the only thing keeping him from laying his hands on Steve, generally. The fact that he’d remember it.

Steve mumbled some incoherent response, and then Billy was sitting down… his weight sinking the mattress and, he was taking Steve’s shoes off… unbuttoning his pants and tugging them down.

“You wanna suck my dick?” Steve slurred, licking at his lips.

“Fuck off.” Billy hissed, shoving Steve further to the left side of his bed before flopping heavily down… turning his back to Steve and curling up. 

Steve just stared blankly at his back… at the way he was pulled in on himself. He found it kind of funny that Billy had taken his sneakers off, but hadn’t bothered to do it with his own boots. He still had his jacket on, too.

“You wont leave…?” Steve asked, not quite able to keep the fear out of his voice as he asked.

“Go to sleep, Harrington.” Billy answered. Except it  _ wasn’t _ … wasn’t a fucking answer.

So Steve rolled over and got closer and… got his hands on Billy’s jacket, grabbed on and pushed his face into the back of Billy’s neck. There was a sharp intake of breath, and Steve felt it all through Billy’s body as he shivered.

“I need you to stay.” He said, using everything he thought he knew about Billy to keep him here.

“You’re a fuckin’ needy drunk, aren’t you.” Billy said… but he didn’t pull away, either.

Steve just hummed, snuck his arms around Billy’s waist… and then Billy was suddenly rolling over— and Steve was shocked for a moment, as he was shoved back… and then Billy was on top of him, breathing hot air against his neck.

“You dunno what you’re playing with.” Billy growled, teeth scraping over Steve’s skin… his breath hitching as the bruise still lingering, the one Billy had given him,  _ stung _ . And Billy was so fucking heavy, pressing Steve down into the mattress… he was arching his back into it, chasing the contact like it was all he needed.

All he needed to wipe everything else from his mind.

“C—come on… I won’t remember, right?” Steve pleaded… he could hear it in his voice, the desperation, the pathetic whine. “You can do whatever you want.”

“That's so fucked up.” Billy bit out, suddenly pulling away. He was straddling Steve’s lap, staring down at him with a frown etched into his face. There was spit smeared on his lips and chin, and he turned his eyes away from Steve as he wiped at it with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “Kinda thought you’d like it.” Billy  _ was _ hard, Steve had felt it pressing into his thigh earlier… could see it now, tenting his jeans as he shifted his weight.

Billy snorted. Huffed and… the tension left him. All the fight. He suddenly looked like someone else— not Billy. Not the Billy Steve knew, not the one that wrapped his fingers around Steve’s neck and tried to quiet his breathing forever less than a week ago.

“...dunno fucking…anything about me.” Billy muttered, his voice filtering in and out of the haze that was threatening to overtake Steve’s mind again.

“I know you’re gonna stay.” Steve said, the haze winning him over… he closed his eyes. And he thought he could feel Billy moving again, the weight of him leaving Steve’s lap and… settling in next to him.

And then he was drifting into the dark, letting it take his hand and draw him away.

* * *

Billy lay there with his jaw wired tight… listening to the way Steve’s breathing calmed. It probably would have been soothing, the slow rise and fall of his chest… the quiet, gentle huffs of air. But Billy felt like his skin was crawling, he was jittery and on edge and  _ painfully _ fucking hard.

Leave it to King Steve to aggressively blue ball someone and then pass out.

He shoved his hand into his jeans and palmed himself, sighing at the way it relieved some of the pressure… Steve’s hair was spread out all over his pillow, soft. A dark contrast to his light blue sheets. Billy had wanted to give in so bad to that offer… to touch him and rub off on him and… Steve was so lit he didn’t even know what he was  _ asking _ for.

But jerking off next to Steve while he was passed the fuck out... it wasn't the same thing as taking advantage of him. Right? The logic seemed reasonable enough, so Billy tightened the grip he had on his cock and picked up the pace. Get it over quick. Then he could just get the fuck out of here.

_ I need you to stay. _

Where the hell did Harrington get off making demands like that? Billy didn’t owe him shit, if anything  _ he _ was the one who was owed now… after saving Harrington’s drunk, stupid ass from that dickhole outside.

He ignored the fact that he’d ‘saved’ Steve… and was now jerking off to him while he slept two inches away. Not the fucking  _ point _ .

Steve rolled over, pressed his face to the pillow and… his lips parted. Opening around a soft sigh, and Billy really couldn’t fucking stand it… the fact that they were pink like that, plush and inviting and…

_ Don’t touch him… don’t touch him don’t touch him. _

The mantra ran over and over again in his head as he stared at Steve, using the precum that had begun to leak from his cock to slicken his movements. He really needed to just fucking _ finish _ .

And then Steve made a sound, a soft… sleepy humm and. Billy was fucked.

His hips jerked, into his hand and… he was cumming in his jeans, a strangled cry fighting it’s way out of him. His muscles pulled taut as he curled in on himself, shock waves rolling through him as he finished.

He breathed hard, his brain slowly coming back down from where it had shot off to with his climax. His hand was disgusting, cum making the fabric of his underwear cling to his skin in a way that was making him restless.

Billy rolled away from Steve and searched the drawer of his nightstand for tissues… grabbing a fist full when he found them, cleaning his hand and shoving them into his pants to try and wipe as much of his release out as he could— leaving behind only a fast cooling wet spot as a reminder.

And then he was getting up, ignoring the ache in his calves as he stood… accidentally knocking into something and sending it clattering to the floor...A bat.

Billy just stared at it, at the dark stain covering the thick end of it… a water stain or… something. Harrington needed to take better care of his gear. He left it on the floor where it had rolled, and stalked over to the door… out of Harrington’s room and back into the chaos of the party.

“Hagan!” He yelled, when he’d finally found Tommy… the guy was intently focused on a far too competitive game of beer pong, and he swore when the sound of Billy’s voice made him miss a shot.

“What the hell, man!” Tommy whined, throwing his hands up and firing a disappointed look at Billy. “I was gonna make that!”

“Your friend needs you.” Billy drawled, leaning against the nearest wall and fishing his pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. 

“You do?” Tommy asked again, his face pinching up a bit. 

“ _Steve_ … got fucking wasted.” Billy explained, lighting up and taking a drag… the smoke filling his lungs. Soothing like a balm. “He’s all needy and shit.”

Tommy just… abandoned his beer-pong game…ignoring the jeering of his opponent, conceding the win. His eyes dropped to the wet spot clinging to the crotch of Billy’s jeans, and raised an eyebrow.

“What, you wanna smell the bitch on me?” Billy sneered, grabbing Tommy’s hair and jerking his head down. Tommy just spit out protests, laughing as he shoved Billy away.

“Fuck off, man!” He finally got out, breathing hard as he barely managed to fight Billy off… only ‘cause Billy let him, of course. He had a lot more fight in him than Steve did but, it was pretty fucking clear that the big shots of Hawkins Indiana had never had to get in a real fight.

Not one where the stakes were anything more than the rights to some chicks pussy or… arguing the timing on a keg stand record. Whatever the fuck these bumass hicks thought was important.

“Listen just…” Billy paused, looking down at his hands… at his fingers, gripping harder than was really necessary at the butt of his cigarette. “Go stay with him, make sure he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.”

Tommy stared at Billy for a moment, that laughing smile slipping away from his freckled face and falling into something… curious… or maybe it was more like. Suspicious. It made Billy nervous, it wasn’t like he would have pegged Tommy for a smart kid when he first met him but… Billy had quickly come to realize that Tommy was the ace in the hole. That he was observant, that he was always watching. 

And that he knew  _ Steve _ like the back of his hand… 

“Yeah.” Tommy said, slowly. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Great.” Billy said roughly, smacking his hand at Tommy’s shoulder before pushing away from the wall and heading towards the front door. He needed air, needed to get the fuck out of here. He didn’t watch for Tommy to go upstairs to Steve, he already knew the guy was doing it… didn’t need the confirmation.

The air outside of Steve’s house was fucking  _ frigid _ , and Billy’s teeth were instantly chattering when he stepped into it. He missed California so bad he could feel it in his bones, his whole body aching in the cold.

Or maybe it was just another thing Neil had beat into him, like the pains Billy woke in the morning with… crawling out of bed with a body that felt ten years older than it was.

But it didn’t really matter  _ why  _ the cold bothered him so bad, it was just another reason he was pointing his compass back home… counting the days until graduation, when he could pack all his shit into the Camaro and set out for the west coast again.

Leave the cowshit behind. He was never gonna look back, not even for...

For anyone.

Billy made it to his car, slipped into the drivers side and sat there… finished his smoke before cracking the window to flick it out… and then he was starting the engine, sinking into the leather seats as it purred to life under him.

The drive back to the house was quiet, Hawkins was quiet. Another reason to hate it… the whole fucking town buttoned up by seven o’clock. In California it was like the nightlife never slept, there was always some group of ne’er-do-wells on the prowl… lurking around the boardwalk well after midnight. 

Billy had always been able to slip in with them, easy... he _blended_ in California. It had been a way to keep him from having to go home.

Now there was nothing… the surrounding forest like a smothering blanket— pushing everyone into their homes, dark and foreboding. Billy missed the shine of the moonlight on the ocean, missed the bonfires and sleeping on sand.

It was ten by the time he got home, and he figured he was in for it. With Neil. But when stepped past the front door, already tensing up… preparing for the blow. He found Susan instead of Neil, sitting up at the kitchen table with a worried look on her face… her hands clasping one another, set out on the table.

“He still isn’t back from the bar yet.” Susan said, her voice weak and wobbling and setting Billy’s teeth on edge the second he hears it.

She said it like Billy was supposed to care. Like Neil getting lost wasn't a goddamn blessing to him… like if the man never fucking came home, it wouldn’t have been cause for a  _ celebration  _ for Billy.

“Yeah?” Billy asked, not really caring for the answer... shrugging his jacket off and stuffing it onto the coat rack alongside the others. It stuck out like a sore thumb, next to Max and Susan’s.

“It’s not like him.” She tried.

Which was a fucking joke because… Susan had no _ idea _ what was ‘like him’ — her ignorance over the man she’d married spurred on such a strong rage in Billy that he had to breathe through his teeth… One. Two.  


“He’ll be fine, he’s probably just fucking some bitch.” Billy snapped, savoring the way Susan flinched at that… the way her face read like someone who’d already thought of that. Who knew how possible that really was, deep _ deep _ down.

He didn’t feel bad for it, just stalked past the kitchen and towards his bedroom… slammed the door, because there was no one here to make him pay for it.

Fell into bed. Thought about Steve Harrington. Couldn’t fucking sleep because he couldn’t fucking…

Stop thinking about Steve Harrington.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Billy going to jerk off in every single chapter…? (yes) I got this chapter written in about a 24 hour period and I was gonna let it sit a bit before uploading it but. Fuck it. TAKE IT.
> 
>  **Thank you for reading!** As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (as is any feedback) — if you liked this work, you can reblog it [right here~](https://shewritesdirty.tumblr.com/post/644470443176329216/rated-e-horror-blood-violence-pain-kink)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot of flicking back and forth between POVS, in order to try and tell two different stories simultaneously. There's just a lot of STUFF I tried to get into this chapter @_@ I have no idea if it works though, so let me know!
> 
> [-Playlist-](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0I0j5h62sfTF9O7y0aSe4i?si=3VxSDtHyTS2e3Ha-kQ0t8Q)

Billy woke to the sun on his face, to bright beams of light glaring through the thin fabric of his curtains and cruelly yanking him out of blissful rest… His mind was foggy, eyes dry as he scrubbed at them with the back of his wrist.

It took him a second to put reality back together, to fit the pieces of the puzzle that made up his mind where they belonged. Make it coherent again. The party was the first thing that filtered in, vibrant and heady. Steve laying across from him in his bed, asleep. Vulnerable.

He was drunk— no, he was completely  _ wasted _ . So it shouldn’t have been such a shock to Billy that Steve let his guard down around him but… it still unsettled him. It still felt like something that shouldn’t have happened… like a slip in fate, _wrongwrongwrong_ and nothing like the path they were meant to take.

They hated each other. They didn’t trust each other. And they certainly didn’t carefully undress each other and… Billy swallowed hard, ignoring the fact that his cock was reacting to this train of thought.

He bit hard at the side of his cheek, until the pain drowned out the arousal that was threatening to creep into him.

And then he was up, shuffling around his room and getting himself into an at least passing state to walk out to the kitchen and get something into his stomach. Which was when the second memory hit him, from last night.

Susan sitting in the kitchen, red eyed and nervous… and Neil, not home.

But when Billy left his bedroom, and padded barefoot down to the kitchen… Neil was sitting there at the table, a news paper in his hand as he read and… a cup of steaming coffee to his left, a plate of eggs to his right.

Susan was busying around the kitchen, and her face betrayed none of the emotion it did last night. A plastic smile ironed onto her face, like nothing had ever happened.

“Billy.” Neil greeted stiffly, looking up from his newspaper just long enough to make eye contact… and Billy just blinked back. Neil turned back to his newspaper and lifted the cup of coffee to his lips... taking a lengthy sip.

Susan had stopped, faltered. Her eyes were flicking between Billy and Neil, a rabbity quality to her as she stood there.

“Morning…” Billy muttered, sliding into the seat furthest from Neil. Susan dropped a plate of eggs in front of him and he tucked in... never tore his attention away from it. The quicker he ate, the quicker he could leave the table.

Max was barrelling out of her room, her hair a wild mess whipping around her as she stomped into the kitchen, dropping her skateboard against the leg of her chair. It clattered as it fell to the floor, and she landed in her chair with a huff.

“Boys are stupid.” She announced, folding her arms angrily across her chest as Susan instantly appeared with another plate of eggs for her.

“What happened?” Susan asked, her voice dripping with a sort of wobbly concern. Billy couldn’t tell if it was for Max, or if it was because she couldn’t anticipate Neil’s mood today… the feeling was mutual. Billy felt claustrophobic… the kitchen walls were closing in on him and he had nowhere to go.

“Nothing!” Max snapped, and Billy flinched. Her voice had raised in that guilty way that made it so obvious she was covering something up and… he turned his head slightly, taking stock of Neil.

Still reading the newspaper. 

“Honey…” Susan started to say, as she continued to bustle around the kitchen. Washing dishes. Her own plate of eggs slowly growing cold.

“It’s not important.” Max mumbled, despite the fact that she’d announced it to the entire fucking room. 

Billy tried to fight back the annoyance that was building up in him, itching under his skin. He just wanted her to shut up… to stop talking until his eggs were finished and he could  _ leave _ , he was practically inhaling them at this point.

“No, it’s not.” Neil finally said, and Billy could hear the click of his jaw as he spoke. Tight. 

Everyone fell silent, and Neil finally dropped his newspaper. Billy got a better look at him— at the sweat on his brow, the way his hands were gripping just a little too tightly at the edges of his paper… it was a precursor to something Billy was well acquainted with. 

But there was a sickly tinge to his skin too, and that was… that was different. He kind of looked like he wanted to turn over and puke on the floor, like maybe he’d drunk so much last night he wasn’t even over it yet.

Neil was a bastard, but he almost never looked… messy. Out of control. His rage was careful and direct like a dart hitting the bullseye. Billy was generally, standing right in the center of that bullseye.

But now Neil looked unfocused, his eyes were sliding from Max to Susan and… it was almost like he hadn’t even noticed Billy was  _ here. _

_  
_ “You know what would be nice…?” He said, his voice heavy with the violence Billy was used to having directed at him. Susan just shook her head. “Some peace and fucking  _ quiet _ , while I read my paper.”

The silence stretched on... and it was like everyone was just waiting. To see what he would do next.  


But Neil just went back to reading his paper… and Max and Susan didn't speak for the rest of breakfast. That pallid look never left Neil’s skin, and Billy kept watching the way his sweating only got worse.

He finished his eggs quickly, before abandoning the table… hurrying back to his room to get ready for school.

* * *

Steve woke to Tommy in his bed which… he squinted, shuffling closer and pinching at Tommy’s freckled cheeks, earning himself a grumble and a palm to the face. Pushing him away. “ _ Mom… _ ” Tommy drew the word out, his voice whiny. “Ten more minutes.” 

Steve honestly couldn’t tell if he’d imagined Billy being here with him last night or not...

Either way, he wasn’t gonna think about it. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and let Tommy sleep in, started for the door. Accidentally tripping over his bat on the way, stubbing his toes on it and swearing— he stared hatefully down at it.

And his stomach sunk. Because he was instantly reminded of  _ why _ he got so fucking plastered last night.

He still felt a little fucked up, his stomach uneasy… his head throbbing. A nasty taste lingering in his mouth… They were already late— missed first period. He caught the time on his alarm clock as he left the room, as he walked to the bathroom and...  


His stomach was suddenly swirling, which was about the moment he realized he was gonna lose it. He dashed to the bathroom, falling to his knees and clutching hard at the seat. Puked up beer and jungle juice and not much else… his throat burned with it, his muscles were sore and everything  _ hurt _ .

He closed his eyes and just... breathed.

The there was a hand at his back, one that had Steve wondering how long he’d been sitting there… with his cheek pressed to the soothingly cool rim. “Better out, than in.” A warm voice said, Tommy’s hand rubbing between his shoulder blades. 

“You’re not mad at me.” Steve stated, his throat scratchy. It wasn’t a question.

“If I stayed mad at you every time you acted like a dick…” Tommy trailed off, nudging a glass of water into Steve’s view. 

Steve took it gratefully and took a sip— swished it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the toilet. Then Tommy was rummaging around in his medicine cabinet and pulling out a bottle, struggling for a second with the child lock before popping it open and sitting on the floor with Steve.

“Say ahh.” Tommy said, grabbing Steve’s chin and squeezing. Steve rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out, let Tommy baby him. Let the guy place the tablets on his tongue before he pulled it back into his mouth and swallowed… chasing the bitter taste with another sip of water.

He would never admit how much he liked Tommy picking up the pieces. How much it felt like… like what  _ family _ was supposed to do. The fact that Steve was letting him do it in the first place was probably admittance enough.

“School or no?” Tommy asked, kicking Steve’s feet out of the way so he could stretch out… throwing his head back against the glass wall of the standing shower. Steve sighed… closed his eyes again and tried to will away the pounding that was slowly settling in his head.

“How bad is the downstairs?” Steve asked— because he couldn’t remember shit from last night, just bits and pieces… he had no idea how crazy the party had gotten.

“Not bad, Carol said she picked up some of the cans before she left…” Tommy started to say, and Steve huffed a laugh… imagining Carol cleaning his house up and… she must have been pissed, she probably chewed Tommy out for it. “Someone puked in your pool, though.”

Steve grimaced… let out a slow, miserable sound at the thought of having to deal with that.

“Okay. School.” His house wasn’t a factor if he wasn’t here. Simple. Tommy just nodded, before heaving himself up and walking back into Steve’s bedroom… getting him some clothes, and returning to dump them unceremoniously on his face.   
  
“Alright then buddy, up’n at 'em!” 

He grumbled about it but… it didn’t take long to get ready. He ignored the state of the house as they headed downstairs… the toilet paper streaming down the handrail as they descended the stairs. He pointedly didn’t look into the living room, as they left through the front door.

Steve drove Tommy, pulling into the school parking lot with a third of the day done…they still managed to slip into the next class without anyone really noticing. Carol leveled a look at them… and Tommy threw his arms around her, tried to plant a kiss on her cheek— only to get blocked by her Chemistry book.

Billy was sitting to the left of Steve, and he was staring up at the blank chalkboard. He hadn't even looked when Steve and Tommy came in… still hadn’t looked, now. Steve’s headache had weakened to a dull ache, and it sucked because now he was able to think about things other than just the  _ pain _ .

Things like how… Billy had touched him— at some point… he was remembering now. Billy’s hands on him, pulling him up his bed. Billy laying down across from him and… Steve told that motherfucker not to  _ leave _ .

And he did. He fucking left.

Steve tore his gaze away from Billy and focused it on the same blank chalkboard… seething. Anger sitting heavy just under his skin, his muscles tight as he tried to keep his shit together in the middle of class…

Their teacher walked in and began droning on for today's lesson. Steve barely heard a word.

* * *

Billy hadn’t stopped thinking about how weird the morning was at home. Not even when Harrington showed up, looking like absolute garbage. He’d still managed to put the King Steve mask on… still dressed like a dick, hair perfect, that same air of superiority clinging to the space around him.

But there were some things a guy just couldn’t hide. The darkness under his eyes, the slump to his shoulders. The little bit of fight that had drained out of him. Except when his eyes found Billy— then he was all fight. Kind of looked like he wanted to get into it right here and there in the middle of the halls.

It made Billy feel a little sick… wondering if Steve knew—if he’d noticed. If he’d been awake still, when Billy had his hand wrapped around his cock and… came in Steve’s bed, staring at him. He shook his head because… that was fucking stupid. Steve had been asleep, he didn’t know shit.

Not knowing didn’t keep him from wanting to kill Billy with his bare hands though, apparently. 

So Billy avoided. He skipped out on lunch with them and snuck into the back of the yard instead, shivered his fucking tits off behind the bleachers as he ate his brownbag lunch and… was reminded just how much of a shithole Hawkins really was… who even liked snow?   
  
It was a bitch— it made him nervous to drive fast… it turned actual shit brown on the side of the road, and it meant he had to shovel the damn walkway or Neil would put his fist through Billy’s teeth.

Just one more reason California was heaven and home all in one. 

“Spot’s taken.” A voice said, and Billy whipped around to catch a girl climbing down under the bleachers… her own bag grasped in her hand as she stepped onto the ground. “You get kicked out of the popular table?”

Billy just breathed a harsh laugh, the girl didn’t seem to think it was funny.   
  
“Why can't you find your own...” She mumbled, sulkily plopping down into the ground as she unwrapped a sandwich from its plastic wrapping.

“Seems big enough for two…” Billy drawled, narrowing his eyes and taking her in. “Almost.” He added, and she flashed a sharp look at him from behind her glasses. She was familiar, they had English together and… she was the only one who seemed to actually enjoy being called on to read.

“Yeah well, maybe I don’t wanna share with a jerk.” She replied, and Billy was kind of impressed by the balls on this one.  


He paused, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag before finally saying; “Okay, what’d I do?”

Four-eyes looked up at him again, her expression sharp. Accusatory. “You’re friends with guys like Tommy and Steve.” 

“Guilty.” He agreed, despite the fact that he was pretty sure that allowing anyone to believe that him and Steve were friends was... some kind of egregious spread of misinformation.

“And they’re  _ the worst _ .” She stated, her face pinching up like she was remembering a very particular instance which proved her point.

“So am I.” Billy said with a shrug, blowing smoke out… 

“Not in the same way.” She said, and Billy was a little startled by that… wasn’t really sure what she meant. If he was worse, or better… or just. Different. The last thing he needed was some annoyingly observant bitch… noticing just how ‘ _ different _ ’ he really was.

“Right, I’ll get the fuck out of your hair then.” Billy snapped, stamping his cigarette out on the metal floor above him, before slipping between the bleachers… his shirt riding up a bit as he went and…

“What’s that from?” He froze, his head swimming a bit and then… he was yanking the back of his shirt back down and climbing the rest of the way out from under the bleachers.

“None of your fucking business.” He snapped, glaring back at the girl. Who was just watching him curiously now… _ too _ curious. It set Billy’s teeth on edge. He’d forgotten about the bruise still nestled between two ribs on his left side, a reminder from Neil.

To stay in his place, to shut up and follow orders. It was half a week old by now, and was fading… barely even noticeable, he’d thought.

And he wasn’t sure why he’d said that… why he didn’t come back with the usual excuse. That he'd gotten into a fight— some dickweed with a big mouth, Billy just had to… put them in their place. The lie was easy, poured from his mouth like oil. Slick, smooth. Not this time.

He’d reacted with a whole body flinch. And four-eyes looked all the more suspicious for it.

“Was just wondering…” She mumbled, looking back down at her sandwich.

“Don’t.” Billy said, leaning back down… threat rolling off him in waves. “Don’t wonder, don’t guess… don’t even  _ think _ .” He snarled, and she just wilted even further in on herself under his gaze.

“Okay…” She mumbled.

Billy pushed away from the bleachers again and turned on his heel… stalked across the yard, back to the main building...

The rest of the school day felt like he was drifting through it. Numb. Counting the seconds until he could leave. Tommy hanging off his shoulder, asking where he’d been for lunch… talking about some bonfire they were having Thursday night. 

Tradition, he’d called it.

Steve nearly choked on his own tongue, stumbling in step next to them as they’d walked. The guy hadn’t even looked once at them, pointedly turned away like the jealous cunt he was— while Tommy fawned all over Billy.

Now he was staring, a weird look in his eyes… like he was scared. Billy didn’t get it, and Tommy seemed to get it even less.

“The bonfire…” Steve muttered, blinking once. Twice. Swallowing hard.

“Yeah… did you forget, man?” Tommy asked, laughing a little.

Billy just frowned. He couldn’t imagine standing out in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere... in the middle of frozen ass _March_ was any kind of a good time but… whatever. There would at least be alcohol and a big fire to keep him from getting frostbite on his dick. 

“Yes.” Steve said slowly, frowning. “We aren’t going.”

“What?” Tommy asked, his smile falling.   
  
“We shouldn’t…” Steve hesitated, paused. He was flicking his eyes from Billy to Tommy… he looked all kinds of fucked up— Billy wondered if he was still hung over. “We can’t go.”

“Fuck you man, if you wanna stay home and be a drag then  _ fine _ but...” Tommy shook his head. “I’m not missing out, no fucking way!”

Steve’s face got all constipated… it looked like he wanted to say more to that but… he didn’t. He just turned on his heel and stalked away from them.

“The hell is going on with him…?” Tommy breathed, both of them watching as he left.

“No clue…” Billy muttered. Everything was weird right now…. First Neil, then random chicks acting like they weren't scared of him... and now Steve.

It made him nervous. Like something was coming.   
  


* * *

Steve just wasn’t gonna go. That was all.

He wouldn’t. Wouldn’t go. He’d chill at home and not think about it. Not think about Tommy and Carol and Billy— or...  _ fuck _ Billy, anyway. He definitely wasn’t thinking about Billy. If one of those things he saw at the junkyard sunk it's… it's teeth into Billy it would have been...

...Been a  _ good  _ thing. 

Steve was sitting in his living room, on the floor. It was after school… the night of the Bonfire. And Tommy hadn’t stopped talking all day about how fucking amazing it was gonna be… about as subtle as a fucking brick.

Trying to get Steve to change his mind, to say he was going.

Steve had his bat sitting in his lap, and he kept rolling it over in his hands. He wasn’t going… he tried to warn them. Except he hadn’t really— he’d just told them not to go... but they should have listened to him. It pissed him off how Tommy just laughed uncomfortably, and instantly told him to fuck off.

Didn’t he get it…? Didn’t he see that Steve was being fucking serious?

Tommy was supposed to be his friend… he was supposed to notice that Steve was… was losing his shit, and that he should just...  _ listen _ . Steve let out a heavy breath and fell back onto the floor— stared up at the ceiling.

The sun was going down, and in less than two hours the rager in the woods would be in full swing… and none of them had any idea what was lurking out there.

He had to go.

The thought sent a chill through him, had him shaking as he tried to breath in… his lungs locking up. It was like the fear was trying to cripple him… paralyzing. Whispering in his ear that it was okay… _ that he didn’t have to _ .

That it wasn’t his responsibility.

But the idea of any of his friends being out there… when he  _ knew _ . If anything happened to them, he couldn’t live with it. So he got up from his mothers living room floor, slowly… his joints aching like they were trying to hold him back. 

And then he was getting ready. Like it was any other party. 

By the time he was leaving his parents house, the sun was down. He had the bat in his hand and kept it on his lap as he drove. It was the first time he’d left his house at night since the incident at the junkyard… he was gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles bleached white.

* * *

Neil really _was_ acting strange… stranger than usual. 

Normally Billy would have thought it was because he was angry, but that wasn't quite right. Neil barely even acknowledged Billy when he came home from school…didn't even turn his head when Billy accidentally let some dishes clash together when he tried to slip a glass out of the drainer.  


Didn't so much as breath different when Billy opened the fridge and got himself a glass of orange juice.  But when Billy opened his mouth to announce he was going out tonight, Neil’s head finally snapped to him.

And that was more familiar... for some reason, Billy couldn't quite figure out if he was supposed to feel relieved or not.

“Going out… where?” Neil asked, a strain to his voice as he spoke. He was sitting in his lay-z-boy… the TV turned low, some basketball game playing. He wasn’t even watching it, when Billy had come in he’d caught Neil just staring to the left, outside the window.

“A friends.” Billy lied smoothly, he’d always had a knack for avoiding the truth with Neil… knew better than to offer it up willingly.

“You're making friends.” Neil said, as if that were something to point out. Maybe he thought it was a miracle, that anyone would waste their time on someone like Billy. Neil looked away to stare at the television again, but he still didn't quite seem like he was really watching it. “I think you should stay home tonight.”

Billy almost laughed, had to smother it and fight it back down… because it was just like Neil, to try and keep Billy from having any semblance of a normal life. 

“Why…?” Billy pressed, and it… it was him just— pushing his luck, like he always had to. He could never just... keep his mouth shut. Even if he knew it was what's good for him. It was why Neil always had to teach him a lesson, because he just never  _ learned _ .

“I want you here tonight.” Neil said, still staring blankly at the TV… a small, pleasant smile hitting his face. And it was all wrong. Billy was bracing for a fight, to come to blows and... he'd never seen a smile on Neil's face like that... aimed at Billy, as he turned his head.  


Fucking uncanny valley... “You’re my son, and I want you here tonight.” 

The tone was funny, not a demand.

It felt like the words he’d wanted to hear all his life, Neil calling him his son… wanting him around. It was like poison, burning his skin— acid… chewing through and leaving him brittle.

“They’re expecting me.” Billy said, stiffly… backing up a bit. His shoulders hitting against the wall behind him as he watched Neil wearily. The smile slipped away, replaced by a frown. Not anger just… blank. Confusion over the fact that Billy wasn't just accepting what he was saying.

Billy had some strange, unsettling feeling that this wasn’t Neil. Laughed bitterly at it, he couldn’t keep it back this time… laughed at how fucking _ crazy _ that sounded in his own head and yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Neil was up, out of his chair. Dead eyes focused on Billy… they held none of the burning hatred that Billy was used to. Nothing familiar.

“ _ I’m _ expecting you.” Neil said, the smile was back. Like a peacemaker's mask. Hollow. Billy felt caged in as Neil drew closer— and he lashed out, like an animal. Planted his hands on Neil's collarbones and _pushed..._ sending him teetering back when he got too close. Billy's mind running overtime… trying to remember the last time he’d actually laid his hands on Neil… the way he’d  _ paid _ for it. Twice.

Once with a trip to the hospital, the second by working all summer long to pay off those bills.

Neil just brushed his shoulder off, frowning again. “I didn't want to have to do this .” He said, lurching forward to trap Billy’s forearms in his hands… shoving him back against the wall, knocking his breath from him. It sounded like such bullshit... like any part of Neil didn’t want to… want to _hurt_ Billy or— put him in his place with force.

His grip was strong, and Billy laughed again. His head a little dazed from the way the back of his skull had hit hard against the wall. “What… what didn’t you want to do…?” Billy slurred, wondering if he was about to die. If something had finally snapped in Neil’s head and he was gonna do it.

If he was gonna erase Billy from his life the way he'd always wanted to.

Neil just ignored him, pulled him away from the wall and dragged him towards the hall and… something kicked in Billy’s chest— a kind of panic, and his instincts kicked in. He fought back, struggled in Neil’s grip… the unnaturally sweaty nature of Neil’s palms making it so he could slip out, falling backwards as he freed himself.

And then he was scrabbling backwards as Neil casually grabbed Susan's ugly green porcelain lamp from the table next to him— brandishing it like the worlds most ridiculous weapon. Billy’s eyes were trained behind him... at the darkness down the hall, on the way it felt… alive. Like it was moving. Like just beyond the shadows cast by the light of the lamp, swinging in Neil’s grip… something was lurking.

Afraid to emerge into the light. The bulb flickered and went out, and Neil tugged it's cord from the wall... somewhere in the back of Billy's mind he registered those two things happening in the wrong order.  


“You’re making this harder than it needs to be!” Neil shouted, and Billy’s gaze snapped up to him. Finally found something familiar there, like the Neil he knew was bleeding back through… just enough. Just enough for Billy to get his arms up to block the blow, as Neil descended on him— swinging the lamp at him like a sledgehammer.

* * *

When Steve pulled up to the clearing and killed his headlights, there were shadows all along the treeline… made even worse by the fire off to the side… making them dance, casting them menacingly across the ground.

Steve kept his baseball bat with him as he climbed out of the car and stalked towards the bonfire, his eyes flickering along the treeline… watching for anything. Tommy let out a cheer as soon as his eyes landed on Steve, an enthused “I  _ knew _ you were gonna be here!” punching out of him as he wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder and pulled him close… frowning at how stiff Steve was.

“You uh… you thinking about playing some baseball…?” Tommy asked, quirking a brow when he caught what Steve was carrying with him.

“Totally… where's Carol?” He asked, his eyes sliding over faces in the crowd.

“She's over here… come on dude— relax geeze.” He laughed, pushing Steve forward and aiming him in the right direction… hands on his shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into Steve’s muscles like he might have after a particularly intense game.

“You shoulda heard him whining this whole time…” Carol started to say, as soon as she caught sight of them coming up. “ _ My Stevie isn’t coming wahhh _ — I swear, sometimes I think he likes you more than me.” She didn’t look like she really cared, throwing back her beer and crunching the can in her palm.

Tommy just frowned, whipping his hands away from Steve’s shoulders. “I didn’t.” He protested weakly, turning to grab both of them a drink… thrusting a cold can of beer into Steve’s hands. He fumbled to take it and keep a good grip on his bat, then glanced around the party and saw no sign of Billy…

“So, Billy didn't…?” Steve started to ask, only for Carol to cut him off.

“Nope, apparently you’re not the only one who thinks a bonfire in the woods is lame.” 

“Oh come on! You guys…!” Tommy whined, pushing up in Carol's space and hanging off her. “We always used to love the bonfire— it’s _fun!_ ”

Steve wasn’t paying much attention to Carol's reply… instead he was scanning the treeline again. Of course that asshole hadn’t even bothered to come… if he wasn’t so busy being worried about faceless monsters, he probably would have been pissed.

It didn’t make sense to him… either. He’d spent the entire rest of the week before today trying to convince Tommy and Carol not to go to the bonfire and… he’d never heard anything out of Billy that made it seem even remotely like he was gonna skip.

He’d been into it right alongside Tommy… a theory which was quickly reinforced by the way Tommy began complaining about how ‘He _said_ he was gonna be here’... but it was whatever, maybe something had come up.

Steve didn’t care, he didn’t have _ time  _ for caring about that.

“Woah, did you hear that?” Tommy suddenly asked, and Steve whipped around from where he was staring at the parking lot— to Tommy’s face. And then beyond him, to where he was looking into the trees ahead of them.

“What did it sound like?” Steve demanded, annoyed that he’d let himself get distracted.

“Sounded like an owl.” Carol said lightly, shrugging.

“How can you be sure?” Steve pressed, grabbing Carol’s arm and tugging her until she was looking at him… getting her attention away from the cigarette she was trying to light, it fell to the ground at their feet.

“What the  _ hell _ — Steve?!” Carol shouted, yanking her arm back.

“Cut it out, man!” Tommy joined in, getting half his body between them.

“I just— how can you be _sure?”_ Steve wasn’t looking at either of them anymore, flicking his eyes over the surrounding woods instead. Those things could come from anywhere… it was so fucking  _ bad _ . Being out here. So stupid. He thought he caught a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye, but when he focused on the spot there was nothing.

“Dude… did you drop acid before you got here…?” Tommy asked, he sounded equal parts concerned and left out. Like Steve had been holding out on him. 

“No.” Was Steve’s short response, an annoyed huff.

“Maybe you should put the bat down.” And then Tommy’s hand was on his and— Steve shoved him back.

“ _ No! _ ” He said it louder than he’d intended… and people were starting to look at them funny. Tommy was sent stumbling backwards, his hands held up in surrender… he bumped into Carol and they were both staring at Steve like he’d gone off the deep end.

Tommy’s lips parted like he was about to say something when...

The rumble of the Camaro filled the clearing… Iron Maiden blaring out of the speakers. Then the engine cut, and the sharp chaos of guitars and drums died with it. Billy stepped out, and the it was like his arrival had left everyone mute... staring dumbly after him.  


He looked like he’d taken one to the face, a split lip and blood crusted under his nose… drying in a smear across his cheek.

Tommy looked like he was about to call him over... looked a little relieved, like maybe he thought Billy would be able to help with Steve...

And then a piercing, deafening sound filled the air. Like a radio frequency… sharp enough that it  _ hurt _ — and people were grabbing their ears, hunching over and yelling… Steve dropped his bat to clutch at his own head.

It was so loud his vision blacked out… and then it was gone.

He opened his eyes… his breathing loud in his head, the world around him silent. The woods still surrounded him, but the bonfire was gone. _Everyone_ was gone… and there was… snow falling. In the air.

It landed in flakes on the back of his hand… but it wasn’t cold. It smudged like ash when he wiped at it with his thumb. 

The wonder quickly faded away to heart pounding panic… and he fell to the ground to search for his bat— swearing when he couldn't find it. He knew he'd dropped it right here and now it was... it was gone. Steve felt sick as he crawled on his hands and knees desperately searching for it... his head whipping around to try and take in his surroundings. It was the clearing but it… it  _ wasn’t _ .

Wherever he was it was all wrong. 

He heard a chillingly familiar chortle, and spun towards it… his breath leaving him in a gasp and— then he was back. The bonfire was lighting the space around him again, and he was flat on his ass in the snowy ground, breathing hard.

There was a static humm in the air. Residual. Hanging around like an imprint left behind. Someone threw up to the left of them… and then another person. Steve was stumbling back up to his feet, trying to catch his bearings again and… his gaze landed on Billy.

The guy’s nose was bleeding fresh again, and Steve wasn’t sure if it was from the sound or if he’d hit it again in an attempt to shield his ears like everyone else had.

“What the fuck was that?” Someone asked, they were closer to the woods… Steve felt jittery— jumping at every little sound, waiting for that fucked up hallucination to reappear.

“My ear is bleeding…” A girl said weakly from not too far away, Steve turned around to catch her staring into her palm… little dark drops resting in her palm

“What’s going on?” Billy’s voice, he’d made it to them now… and it was like he was vibrating with energy. His leg tapping up and down as he scanned the party, like he was accounting for their surroundings. Steve had managed to find and collect his bat from the ground, and he quickly noticed Billy seemed even more unsettled than the rest of them.

“No clue—” Carol snarled, her voice pitching a little high… “Some fucking… some _ thing _ … just tried to deafen us all.”

“Don’t think that was an owl…” Tommy muttered, smacking at the side of his ear. “...won’t stop fucking _ringing_.”

“I’m sure beating yourself braindead will help.” Billy replied dryly, wiping at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

Steve was scanning the trees, a panic threatening to crawl up from somewhere deep in his chest and overtake him.

“I don’t hear anything else.” He said, his voice shaking... he was straining to listen for  _ anything  _ lurking under the ringing of his own ears… under the chaos of everyone talking at once… 

“Pretty sure I'm never gonna hear  _ again _ .” Carol bitched, despite the fact that she could obviously hear enough to respond to them… Billy just rolled his eyes.

“We should go.” Steve insisted… trying to usher all three of them closer to the cars by spreading his arms and shoving them back.

“Wha— Billy just got here man!” Tommy complained.

“We need to go.” Was all Steve said, and Tommy caught his eye… stared him down. 

“Okay.” Tommy finally relented, like he just caught on. That it was something more than just… Steve being a drag, or whatever.

“Oh my fucking _god_ , what a waste of a night.” Carol hissed, snatching a final beer as they gave in and let Steve shove them towards the parked cars.

Steve was surprised that Billy didn’t put up much of a fight… just, strode on ahead of them. Maybe he just never gave a shit about the bonfire after all… Then he halted, and they all crashed into the back of him.

“Billy— what the fuck?” Steve hissed, and then he followed Billy’s gaze. Barbara Holland was sitting at the edge of the woods, on one of the turned over logs, staring at her hands.

  
“Hey.” Billy called out, and her head snapped up. “You good…?” Steve felt so overwhelmingly jealous that he actually trembled, gritting his teeth and locking his joints to make it stop. It was ridiculous, Barbara fucking Holland. He was jealous.

“Wow, did you sleep with the cow or something…?” Tommy muttered, too loud for her not to overhear. Billy elbowed him in the gut so hard Steve thought he was actually gonna throw up, there were tears pooling at the corner of his eyes as he hunched over.

She stared at them… her eyes narrowing. Like it was a trick. Like she knew better.

“Fine.” She answered, and Billy just nodded. Then they were moving again, and Steve had to get an arm around Tommy to help him walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry to those of you who were like… YES NEILS DEAD ALREADY!!!! Y’all were so hopeful and it was beautiful. :(
> 
>  **Thank you for reading!** As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (as is any feedback) — if you liked this work, you can reblog it [right here~](https://shewritesdirty.tumblr.com/post/644470443176329216/rated-e-horror-blood-violence-pain-kink)


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